“I’ll escort you wherever you wish to go. England, Scotland, the continent…as far as you please. And your hard-earned fortune will always be your own. I’ll sign documents to that effect. I do not wish to take from you, only add.”
Delilah wrapped her arms about Ben’s waist and rested her cheek against his chest, enjoying the solid strength of him while the fire warmed her back. “A businesswoman makes bargains, Your Grace,” she said slowly, as the critical words to her future happiness formed in her mind. “Here is an offer. We marry by special license. For a year we just enjoy each other, visit your various estates and see the countryside, travel to Dublin, Edinburgh, and Paris, even Brussels. The following year…we try for a child.”
His arms tightened around her. “Agreed.”
“Agreed?” she said in mock-horror, leaning back to look up at him but unable to stifle her laughter. “Aren’t you even going to try and negotiate? Have I taught you nothing?”
Ben smiled, but his reply was tenderly solemn. “You have taught me everything, madam, as you well know. And freed me from the chains of rigid propriety and shame. I’ll be forever grateful for that, and your love. As for negotiating…why would I do so when your offer is exactly what I desire? With the proviso that should you wish to start another business venture or further your charitable works, I will support the decision. The title of duchess is not a cage to confine you, but to inform all in the realm that I could not imagine a world without you at the center of it.”
Joy warmed her to the tips of her toes and brought tears to her eyes. “Well then, my duke. I suppose there is nothing left to do but ask for my hand in marriage. I’ll warn you though…I have a stand-in Papa, Mr. Wickham, who will want to ensure your intentions are honorable.”
He grinned. “I’ll certainly purchase more sweets before that conversation. So…Delilah Forbes. My sweetheart. Will you marry me and be my Christmastide bride?”
“Yes, yes, yes!”
Epilogue
Christmas Eve
A collection of England’s most powerful currently stood in his drawing room; peers and their wives, politicians, ambassadors and diplomats, Almack’s patronesses, even a few members of the royal family. All were sipping drinks as they stared at him with rampant curiosity and speculated sotto voce, for he’d made no public comment on the front page scandal but instead invited them to an afternoon soiree, his first as host.
Bennett gulped. He’d been tempted to don a suit of armor to face the wolves, but there were at least a few friendly faces in the crowd: Judith and Preston, Mr. and Mrs. Wickham, and his mother had returned from the country. While Hurst, Fletcher, Sir Giles, and the Prince Regent had not made the guest list, he’d deliberately invited a wide spectrum of people; those he liked and disliked, those who frequented the Temple and those who would never set foot there. Everyone needed to hear the truth from his lips; that he’d found the love of his life and Humdrum Tun would be no more.
And here it was. The moment of truth.
He clapped his hands together to gain their attention.
“My lords, ladies, and gentlemen,” Bennett began. “You are welcome in my home, and I thank you for accepting an invitation on Christmas Eve. Even the weather decided to be amiable, graciously providing a hint of blue sky and frost rather than the traditional bleak rain. I’m sure you are wondering at the purpose of my soiree, when I have not entertained here previously…”
Almost as one, the guests leaned forward.
Wolves indeed.
Stifling a shudder, he clasped his hands behind his back. A speech in the House of Lords would never be as intimidating as this. “First, I would like to address a certain front page that included words like corrupt, debauchery and violence. It is all true. Humdrum Tun was reformed so perfectly, so completely, by the loving care of a wonderful woman that he has disappeared forever.”
Noise exploded in the room; outraged shrieks, fans snapping open, excited chatter at such juicy gossip, a few laughs, a few cheers and stomping feet, although none of those were loud enough to drown out Judith yelling ‘Huzzah!’
Bennett’s lips twitched. Perhaps there were occasions when having a sister who could not hold her peace was a good thing. After the din eventually died down, he continued, “So I stand here before you as Duke of Tunbury, hopeful and eager for the future…because I will have a clever, spirited, kindhearted woman at my side. Some know her as the Mistress of Sin. Others as Mrs. Forbes. But to me, she is Delilah and entirely beloved. Sweetheart?”
As they’d prearranged, the drawing room door swung open and Delilah strolled in, looking absolutely stunning in a gown of cream silk overlaid with gold muslin, the Tunbury diamonds at her throat, and because she loved the festive season so much, a fresh sprig of holly tucked into her coiffure. Escorting her was a dear man he’d known since childhood, the clergyman who had led his father’s funeral: Charles Manners-Sutton, the Archbishop of Canterbury. Today the longtime friend and confidant of the Innsworth family would officiate his wedding.
Gasps echoed around the room, murmurs reached feverish levels, necks craned and quizzing glasses were raised, as Delilah walked directly to him and sank into a deep curtsy.
Bennett took her hands and leaned down to kiss her cheek. “You are so beautiful,” he whispered. “I am the most fortunate of men.”
She smiled, her eyes shining. “My duke.”
The Archbishop beamed at them indulgently, then turned to the gathered guests and lifted up his bible. “Yes, dear friends, you are the fortunate ones who shall be witnessing the marriage of Bennett David Charles Innsworth, Duke of Tunbury, and Delilah Marie Forbes today. Let us begin with a prayer of thanksgiving…”
The ceremony passed in a blur, but he must have said the right words when necessary, for some time later, they were pronounced man and wife. His family, the Wickhams, and some who were regular Temple visitors cheered loudly, and soon more and more guests joined in, applauding or raising their wine and brandy glasses.
Bennett exhaled heavily and squeezed Delilah’s hand as men and women surged forward to offer congratulations. While he knew only some were genuine; that others were counting the seconds until they could sprint away and gossip until their tongues fell out, or that certain hostesses were already crossing him off their invitation list forever, he had no regrets. Whatever happened, they would always have each other, and family or friends who cared for them.
For hours they talked and drank and sampled the six-course wedding banquet created together by his chef and the Temple’s Frenchman, who had decided to accompany Delilah to her new household. But eventually the last guests departed, leaving Bennett and his new wife blessedly alone.
He took her hand and kissed it. “What would you care to do next, Your Grace?”
Delilah grinned impishly. “Good gracious. That’s me.”
“It is indeed.”
“Can a duchess inquire if it is too early for bed?”
“A duchess may do as she pleases. And in answer to your question…not at all too early,” he replied, as lust jolted through him. “It is growing dark outside after all.”